FPS Kirika
by Mireille Bouquet Fan
Summary: While recovering from a gunshot wound, Kirika takes up a new pastime. Some characters will be depicted out of character, otherwise (somewhat) in-universe. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

_Noir_ is owned by Ryoe Tsukimura, Bee Train Production, and Flying Dog. The English language version, produced by A.D. Vision, is owned by FUNimation Productions. All other trademarks and copyrights are the intellectual property of their respective owners.

* * *

FPS Kirika

A _Noir_ story

* * *

Kirika Yuumura ran, trying to avoid the hail of bullets raining down on her. Turning to face her attacker, she let loose with a long burst from her carbine. The gunfire seemed to repel the shooter, but danger came from another quarter. She turned.

Too slow.

She caught a bullet in the lower torso. She saw red, and her pace slowed. Worse, the carbine was almost empty, and she didn't have time to change the magazine.

She switched to her sidearm, drawing a pistol. She turned and fired. The bullets hit home, but not before the enemy fired a shotgun at close range.

Kirika took a shotgun shell to the chest and fell to the ground. Her eyes widened in shock. Colour faded to black and white.

She was dead. It was over.

"Defeated. Don't let this happen again!"

"Fuck!" Kirika cursed at the monitor, which displayed "Defeat" in red text.

"What's wrong?" Mireille Bouquet asked from around the corner, in the kitchen.

"I got killed again and lost the round," she complained, gesturing to the screen, which now showed her killer's point of view as he came around a corner with a shotgun and fired on her. Her onscreen avatar crumpled and fell to his knees, the wound resulting in an inexplicable fountain of American banknotes.

"Ah, don't worry about it," Mireille called out. "It doesn't matter. There's always next round."

Kirika let out a soft sigh. Her team was well behind that round, but she was still irritated at being that round's winning kill. "Ah. You're right."

* * *

It had been a week after arriving back in Europe from that job in North Africa, and there was nothing to do but wait for Kirika to recover. As suspicious and distrustful of her as she was, Mireille felt bad for Kirika while she was effectively housebound, so she bought a 17-inch gaming laptop for her to use. The result was that Kirika could look at all the cat pictures and J-pop music videos she liked while Mireille still had her all-in-one PC.

She also bought a copy of _Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2_ for her to pass the time, and Kirika had taken to it with surprising gusto. Mireille had long since gotten used to the sound of simulated gunfire and sighs and grunts of annoyance in the apartment, and more than once, the afternoon had been interrupted with a shriek of "Fucking noobs!" or "That was bullshit!" It was quite a contrast to the otherwise soft-spoken and taciturn Kirika Yuumura.

Kirika's choice of username raised an eyebrow: whitekittycat94. More than once, Mireille had wondered if she had been affected by that Russian job, but Kirika had showed nothing, as usual, following their departure from Russia. Did she feel guilty, and was this a subtle way of expressing it? Unlikely, Mireille had thought, dismissing the notion; maybe she just _really_ liked that cat.

Peeking over Kirika's shoulder, Mireille was somewhat surprised at the amount of on-screen trash-talking by players, interspersed with the odd hackusation. It was somewhat amusing, but she found herself almost wincing at some of the more biting comments.

* * *

As she emerged from the kitchen, looking over at Kirika, Mireille wondered if this new pastime of hers would go anywhere.

* * *

From the author: My first serious attempt at humour (see what I did there?). This is the result of an idea I had once, that I ended up typing out. Unlike my other stories, there's no preplanned outline or direction, just a few ideas for 'scenes'. This might go somewhere, it might not. Please let me know what you think by way of reviews. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Foreword: The usernames that appear herein are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual usernames is coincidental. Please accept my apologies if your username appears in a negative light.

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

Three days earlier

* * *

Kirika watched silently from the small dining table as Mireille deposited a large brown cardboard box on her pool table.

"What's that?"

"I thought you might be getting bored waiting to recover," Mireille replied, stepping back from the pool table, "and since I can't have you using my computer all the time, I thought I'd get you a laptop."

Her eyes widened slightly with surprise. "A… laptop? For me?"

"Yeah," Mireille affirmed with a nod.

She didn't consider herself a particularly heavy computer user, looking mostly at cat pictures and videos, and some J-pop music videos on YouTube, and she understood that Mireille wanted to use her computer herself, but she had little else to do while waiting for her injury to heal. This was a welcome surprise.

"You didn't have to," she finally said softly, with a tiny smile.

"It's ok. I paid for it with your cut."

* * *

Installing _Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2_ took longer than either of them expected, but then again, it was a two-DVD install.

Kirika promptly went to the singleplayer. Having never played a first-person shooter before, she was a bit slow on the tutorial level, but was satisfied with her speed and reactions after three or four runs, so on with the campaign she went.

* * *

After a couple of hours spent playing the singleplayer, Kirika decided to try her hand at the multiplayer. Here, she was at a disadvantage: other players were far more experienced, they knew the maps, and they had more varied weapons with whatever attachments affected performance, as well as the 'perks' that gave players different attributes.

Still, some players had suspiciously fast reflexes, as she saw from viewing the 'killcam' that showed your killer's point of view in the last few seconds leading up to your death. Was this hacking in action?

* * *

She was decent when it came to the singleplayer campaign, but her amazing real-world speed and reflexes had yet to translate into the game, and Kirika often found herself being frequently killed online, far more often than in singleplayer. As the deaths mounted, her sighing and grunting in frustration with each multiplayer death grew louder, transitioning into loud cursing.

* * *

One player she came across early was a blatant hacker, firing a Barrett semiautomatic sniper rifle on what was practically full-auto, also somehow scoring direct torso or headshots despite firing from the hip.

"Fuck this shit," Kirika had declared, leaving the server after the second time she was killed by this player.

* * *

An observation she made was that players of this game seemed to be fond of insulting each other using the in-game chat. It was a crude form of psychological warfare, she mused. Perhaps they hoped that a player's performance would suffer as a result of receiving an insult.

One common taunt was a boast of having had sex with another player's mother, an insult that mystified Kirika.

Some victories or kills led to gloating.

* * *

Kirika stood by herself on a rooftop, overlooking a city. The rooftop was, it seemed, partially under construction or closed for maintenance, with some areas bordered with chain-link fences and tarpaulins, and the perimeter of the roof ringed with small cranes, ostensibly for hoisting equipment up from below. Nearby, to her left, was a partially walled-off area containing what looked like transformers, or some other large electrical equipment. Two similar devices were nearby, surrounded by chain-link fencing. To her right was an open pair of elevators.

She had to move fast. Her team's score was down. They on the verge of defeat. Anyone could come around these corners. She had to be ready.

Kirika turned a corner. Nothing.

An enemy player appeared, turning a corner a few metres ahead. He shifted his weapon, intending to fire down his sights. Kirika's finger tensed on the left mouse button.

Suddenly, everything stopped and went gray. "Defeat" appeared in red text.

"Oh, shit," Kirika muttered.

"Mission failed. We'll get 'em next time," the game said.

The round was over. Someone else on her team was killed.

* * *

ifucanreadthisimabout2killu: pwned

Hawkeagle1000: ahaha

illogical1: bg

humungousmember: dickslapped

* * *

"Asshole," Kirika muttered to herself.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

Players also partook in hackusations; players who managed to avoid damage, scored quick or otherwise 'impossible' kills, or even players on successful killing streaks were accused publicly of cheating in some way. Kirika herself became the subject of them as she became more experienced and began to kill people in streaks. She dismissed them, but came to occasionally respond, depending on her mood.

* * *

Omega-killer: white cat hax

Black_Knight: shut up

* * *

Despite her best efforts, her team was losing this round. She was in no mood to brush aside a hackusation.

"Hacks, my ass," Kirika said to herself in irritation. "I'll find this asshole."

* * *

On the screen, Kirika walked through the departure lounge of a hastily evacuated airport, carbine at the ready. Gunfire from other players sounded in the distance. She came across an enemy player who had appeared from around a corner. The red text floating above the avatar read "Omega-killer."

 _Excellent._

She fired a burst from her M4A1 carbine, cutting him down. She felt a brief sense of satisfaction as the player crumpled and died.

 _Now, all I need to do is..._

* * *

whitekittycat94: meow motherfucker

* * *

Scores this round were close. Very close. Seventy-four all. It would only take one kill to win or lose this round. Everyone had to be careful. Of course, some players on both sides were of the run-and-gun sort, liable to get themselves killed. It was behaviour Kirika herself was prone to, but not now.

Kirika inched closer to the screen.

This time, the map was of an abandoned city. Walls were pockmarked with bullets. Windows were cracked where they hadn't been smashed open altogether. Doors to shops were left open. The streets were strewn with rubble.

An enemy player darted out from behind a building. Her hand tensed as she slid the mouse to the left, depressing the left, then the right mouse buttons.

At the same time, Kirika's screen turned red. _She was being shot at!_

The first two shots missed. The third hit… then the fourth… then the fifth. A miniature fountain of computer-generated blood, too large to be realistic, burst from his avatar.

He was down.

The screen turned black and white.

VICTORY!

"Yeah! That's right, motherfuckers!" Kirika yelled triumphantly. "How do you like them apples?!"

"Hey." Mireille sounded irritated.

She turned away from the screen. "Yes?"

Mireille stood there, at the entrance to the small kitchen. She looked angry.

"I know you're usually really quiet, and it's great that you're expressing yourself, but try and keep it down, will ya? I nearly cut myself with a knife thanks to your screaming just now."

Her triumphant smile faded, and she hung her head in guilt. "I'm sorry."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

Time went on. Kirika became familiar with the game.

Due to the random nature of the multiplayer game lobby, one wasn't guaranteed to come across a certain player at any given time. However, Kirika eventually came to recognise some names that appeared consistently, depending on the time of day.

One player in particular got her attention: ~1337-TrUeNoIr-1337~

The username. True Noir. Could it have a link of some sort to them? Doubtful; according to Mireille, the name Noir had been thrown around a lot by various guns for hire. That was why she had chosen it; it sounded ambiguous and creepy, and it also hid the fact that there were two of them. Chances were some gamer had gotten wind of the name. Maybe not even that; they probably just thought it sounded cool without knowing it was also a name used by contract killers.

Still, it bothered her somewhat; the word, French for black, was one of a few things Kirika remembered upon awakening in her bedroom a year ago. It was significant; she still had no idea why. Seeing it here, and in this form, piqued her curiosity.

This player consistently scored at or on top of their team's scoreboard at the end of their round. Kirika kept a casual eye on the corner of the screen that showed who killed whom, and they seemed to get an awful lot of knife kills, too. Maybe they had the Commando perk. They also eschewed the thrown hand grenade, instead favouring a throwing knife.

* * *

The map was of a small grassy field, with a small hill with three tunnels dug into it leading into a central room stocked with supplies. Impassable bushes grew on the hill. Surrounding the field was a small cottage on one side, and a graveyard on another. Trenches lined with wooden planks were dug into the ground on one side, leading to the tunnels.

Kirika had found herself in one of the tunnels, looking out from the central room. In front of her, a fellow soldier dropped down into a trench. She glanced at the green text over his head: TrUeNoIr.

In front of her, TrUeNoIr whipped up a throwing knife. The avatar was about to throw it. Probably just a reflexive attack, Kirika thought. She did it all the time, firing on anyone who entered her field of view. With friendly fire off, as it typically was, it would be merely a waste of a knife.

Suddenly, red entered her vision. She was being attacked from behind!

"Oh, shit," she hissed.

The attack stopped as soon as Kirika turned with the mouse. She left-clicked reflexively, firing a burst from her submachine gun.

No need. Her attacker lay dead. TrUeNoIr had killed them with the throwing knife.

To her left, TrUeNoIr had pushed past into the tunnel, turned to his left, and fired. Kirika turned again to watch the opponent collapse into a heap at another entrance to the central underground room.

The screen turned grey. The round was over.

VICTORY!

* * *

pillaroftruth: truenoir hax

n00bslayer: good aimbot noir

blacktiger: fuckin hax

knight101: camper dick

wolfeagle: turn off hax

~1337-TrUeNoIr-1337~: gg assholes

* * *

Once again, TrUeNoIr had demonstrated his skill.

She didn't have much time to ponder it, though, because they were finishing up on packing their bags, and Kirika was only sneaking in a round or five. It was now nearly six weeks since the job in Africa; she had sufficiently healed to take on jobs again. Mireille had spent the past two weeks researching a job in New York City.

Kirika exited the game lobby, went back through a few submenus, and exited the game.


End file.
